


The Colonel, the Bug, and the Chicken

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: A very pretty planet turns out to be not such a pleasant place for Jack O'Neill





	The Colonel, the Bug, and the Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Pairing: None  
Season: 5  
Warnings: None  
Spoilers: None   
Rating: there are a few swear words, though nothing you wouldn't hear on TV  
Disclaimer: Don't own Stargate, and yes, I know it. But this is my fic, so don't post it anywhere without asking me first.  
Author's Pledge: Honest and accurate information provided to potential readers so that they may make informed choices on whether or not to read  
Author's Note: Thanks to Cokie for the beta, and the title.  
//---------------------------------\\\

Colonel Jack O'Neill walked along happily, well, happily might be a bit of an exaggeration. Happy wasn't a word that normally stood front and center in his mindset, not while he was on a mission. Satisfied might be a better description, or maybe content.

It was a fine day. The sun was shining brightly, and not too hot, from a blue sky, although the blue was a slightly odd shade of blue. Carter had an explanation for the unusual hue, something about more or less zenon or neon or freon or whatever in the air, affecting the color. 

Jack honestly didn't care *why* the sky was the color it was, he just thought it was the prettiest blue sky he'd ever seen.

Not that he'd tell his team that.

God forbid that they think he was concerned with whether something was pretty.

He was a warrior, after all, and he had a reputation to protect.

But damn, it *was* pretty. There was just no other way to describe it. Pleasing to the eye. Soothing. Pleasant to look at. Appealing. Attractive.

So, yeah, pretty.

O'Neill's gaze drifted over the landscape, noting details of the terrain as he kept his eyes open for danger, which, so far on this world, had been pleasantly non-existent. There was grass, which looked pretty much like the crabgrass that invaded his lawn back in Colorado. And of course, there were trees. Almost everywhere they went in the universe there were trees, and trees that looked basically like the trees of Earth. There was surely some scientific reason for that, for the universal preponderance of trees, but if he asked Carter, she'd ramble on for ages, providing him with some long-winded explanation that explained nothing-at least to him.

Better to leave well enough alone.

Far in the distance, he could just make out the dim outline of some big mountains, their snow-capped peaks a pure white that contrasted with the deep blue of the sky.

A small stream flowed alongside the path they were following, the pristine water tumbling noisily over the rocks. This stream would lead them back to the Stargate, along the way growing into a broad, swift flowing river. The trail they were following was wide and level, easy on his knees.  
All in all, he thought, it was a darn good day to be Colonel Jack O'Neill.

/---------------\

The four teammates traveled along at a steady pace, having left the native village an hour before, just after sunrise and following a hearty farewell breakfast of local delicacies. 

A good day starts with a good breakfast, Grandma O'Neill had always said.

Over the years, Jack had learned that Grandma O'Neill, bless her heart, had been right about most things, and breakfast was certainly one of them.

It was a nice planet with nice people who had treated them nicely, not that 'nice', just like 'pretty,' was a word that was important in his warrior's vocabulary. Words like safe, secure, non-hostile were more important. Of course, if they were safe *and* contained an abandoned Gould arms cache, now, that would be much more than nice, it would be absolutely excellent, maybe even all the way to totally awesome. But, alas, there had been no arms cache.

Just a lot of very nice niceness.

Niceness which was now over, since a few hours ago SG-1 had bid farewell to the friendly locals and the four of them were now on their way home.

Hopefully in time for Thursday's cafeteria special, roast beef.

Uncharacteristically absorbed in thinking instead of watching where he put his feet, Jack stubbed his toe on the ground. Awkwardly he caught his balance, barely avoiding what would have been, even if just in front of his teammates, an embarrassing fall. Tripping over a blade of grass or a grain of sand-- he shook his head, berating himself for daydreaming while on a mission. Thinking about pretty skies and niceness was distracting.

/---------------\

Daniel Jackson saw SG-1's leader stumble. That was odd. Not that Jack didn't, on occasion, trip, stumble or fall, but it was unusual. The Colonel was naturally athletic, walking mile after mile with an effortless grace that the archaeologist could only envy. 

/---------------\

Jack threw the ground a dirty look, smiling to himself at the bad pun, even as he caught himself and resumed his normal stride. It was sort of embarrassing, walking along at point and stumbling over nothing.

He wasn't usually such a klutz.

A klutz didn't last long in Special Ops or any other front line field unit of the military.

Odd, too, that in just the last few minutes, he'd begun to feel sort of, well, off. A little too warm. A little bit headachey. And his stomach was a little bit upset, like he'd had too much strong coffee. Though he'd had only one cup this morning, to go with that big breakfast of alien oatmeal-stuff and the tart native fruit, Appalachasnatcha or whatever the natives had called it.

Signaling for a brief halt, Jack stepped off the path and walked closer to the edge of the stream, into the shade of a couple of native pine-ish trees where he flopped down on the thick mat of grass. "Ten minute break, kids," he proclaimed, opening his canteen and taking a long swig. "Teal'c?"

"I shall stand watch, O'Neill."

Assured that they were safe, O'Neill leaned back and closed his eyes.

Following the break, he felt better, and led his team on toward the gate.

/---------------\

Major Samantha Carter thought the Colonel looked hot. Not *that* kind of hot, though a lot of the women at the SGC thought he *was* that kind of *hot*-- it was one of their favorite lunch-time topics. At the moment, however, she was thinking that her commanding officer was hot as in overheated and sweaty. Which was quite odd, since the temperature, last time she'd checked, had been a very moderate 73 degrees Fahrenheit. True, they were walking at a steady pace, but it was the kind of thing they did so often, it shouldn't raise even the hint of a sweat on someone as fit as the Colonel.

Not normally.

But her CO was definitely perspiring. She could see the damp stains growing on the tan t-shirt he wore under his sand camo equipment vest. There were more wet patches at the base of his neck, under his arms, and down the middle of his back. Even his silver hair looked dark with sweat.  
Odd.

/---------------\

He felt way too warm. Guess summer had finally arrived on P5-something-something. Sallamdra the natives had called it.

Should have named it Hades, because it was sure as heck hot enough to be, Jack thought, and slogged on.

/---------------\

O'Neill appeared to be experiencing difficulty. Though he made no complaint to his teammates, it was obvious to Teal'c that the leader of SG-1 was not feeling well. He was walking much slower than his usual brisk pace, and rather than maintaining a straight path, instead was wavering slightly side to side with each stride, leaving a most inefficient and inexplicable track in the sandy surface of the trail.

/---------------\

There was something odd about this Salamander planet. The ground didn't stay still, like all self-respecting ground should. He'd put down a foot and stumble when the path seemed to shift beneath his feet.

Such trickery wasn't fair.

With a grimy hand, Jack wiped away the sweat that trickled down his face and soldiered on.

/---------------\

Jack seemed pale beneath his tan, Daniel thought, watching SG-1's CO closely. Something seemed subtly but distinctly odd in Jack's normally even stride. Sure, sometimes there was a bit of stiffness to his gait when his knees or his back were bothering him. Today, though, it was as if the man was walking in deep sand or sticky mud, each footfall uncertain as if the Colonel was feeling for the ground beneath his feet.

/---------------\

His sunglasses didn't seem to be working today. Even with them on, the sun's glare seemed unnaturally bright, the intensity of it making Jack's head pound.

And the headache was getting worse, much worse.

Maybe it was a migraine. He hadn't had one of those in a very long time, and he hadn't ever had one while off world, as a matter of fact.

Crap, his head hurt.

If he could hang on for just another couple of hours, they'd gate home and Doc would give him something for the pain.

Sighing, O'Neill walked on.

/---------------\

The Colonel was walking even more slowly, Carter realized, worry spiking through her. If there was one thing she knew about him after all these years of offworld missions, it was that he didn't dawdle, not ever, especially not on the way home. Once he made the decision to head back to the gate, he was always focused on getting there. And now, he was not only walking at an almost leisurely stroll, but she thought she saw him actually stagger. It was just a slight miscalculation in his balance, but wholly unexpected.

She was about to step forward, to ask him what was wrong, when he suddenly stopped.

/---------------\

Jack didn't know why he did it, why he stopped, just that at that moment it seemed like the right thing to do. His legs felt a little shaky and his knees were sort of wobbly and really, really achy, like he'd been walking for days with hundred pound weights strapped to his ankles. He needed just a minute to catch his breath, regroup, gather his strength, and then he'd be able to go on. He was sure, well, pretty sure, that he could go on. 

After another minute or two. 

Maybe after a drink, because his mouth felt dry and tasted sour.

He fumbled for his canteen, unclipping it from his belt and raising it to his lips to take a long swallow.

The tepid water was cool and refreshing as it slid down his throat.

Ah, that felt better. 

/---------------\

When the Colonel stopped, it was Teal'c who moved up to stand beside him. "Are you unwell, O'Neill?" he asked.

Jack patted the Jaffa's broad shoulder. "I'm just peachy, T, just peachy."

"You do not look peachy, O'Neill." Teal'c told him honestly.

"Ah, well, it's just a bit hot today."

"It is not," the Jaffa contradicted.

Jack brushed more sweat from his face. "Just because you and Junior are from a desert planet-"

"I don't think it's hot either, Jack," Daniel had stepped up beside them.

O'Neill fixed the archaeologist with a glare. "Well, Desert Boy, where were you raised, huh? Egypt. Desert. Hot," Jack smirked.

"The temperature *is* moderate today, Sir," Carter piped up.

"Yeah, right, take their side," Jack raised his eyes to see his teammates were all stopped, staring at him. "Let's go, huh? We'll hold the Tupperware party later." He turned to walk on.

/---------------\

They were making slow progress toward the gate.

Daniel looked over at Sam, and saw his own worry reflected in her eyes. He twisted around to look back at Teal'c, and thought that even the big Jaffa's stoic countenance showed concern.

/---------------\

The first chill took him by surprise.

At first, Jack thought that maybe a cold wind had blown down from the snow-capped peaks they could see far off in the distance, but he knew they were too far away for that. Maybe a cloud had passed over the sun, the sudden shade dropping the temperature. But his eyes told him that wasn't the case, either. It was still too bright, and he was still having to squint behind his sunglasses.

Damn, he hated this planet.

Another shiver rolled through him and he looked down to see the goosebumps raise on his arms.  
Weird.

Because he could still feel the sweat rolling down his face and dripping down his back, but it felt suddenly cold now. 

Hunching his shoulders, Jack walked on, hoping the movement would warm him.

/---------------\

Teal'c saw the telltale signs of his leader's discomfort, the broad shoulders pulling in on themselves, the way O'Neill seemed to hunker down into himself, a slight but noticeable shudder passing through the lean frame.

/---------------\

Daniel watched Jack trudge stubbornly forward, stumble and without warning, slide bonelessly to his knees.

/---------------\

He didn't know how it had happened. One moment, he was on his feet, putting one foot in front of the other as he'd been doing mile after mile, mission after mission, year after year, and the next, the world spun and shuddered, tilting like an earthquake had rolled across the landscape. His knees wanted to buckle and his headache spiked from dull throbbing to pulsing with wave after wave of pain.

This time for sure a cloud must have passed in front of the sun because the terrain had suddenly gotten dimmer and a sharp, jagged pain erupted somewhere beneath his heart.

In that fraction of a second, he went from upright and walking to crashing to the dirt, landing hard on his knees, shaking, sweating and feeling very, very odd.

/---------------\

"O'Neill!"

"Jack!"

"Colonel?"

In an instant, all three of them were kneeling down, clustered around him.

/---------------\

He was still trying to figure out how he'd gotten down on his knees when the first spasm hit him. Like a punch in the gut, his abdominal muscles savagely cramped and twisted. His legs gave way and he slid the rest of the way to the ground. He closed his eyes, pulling his knees up toward his chin, the first bitter taste hitting the back of his throat as he groaned and tried to bite back the rising tide.

As suddenly as it had hit him, the rippling tremor subsided.

He felt weak with relief.

Whatever it was, it was over.

Or so he thought.

/---------------\

Daniel saw Jack's legs relax, as if whatever had seized him had passed, the archaeologist realized with relief. "Jack?"

The brown eyes opened, but they weren't right, that was immediately apparent. The normally intense gaze was glazed and unfocused.

"Daniel?" O'Neill muttered weakly. "What just happened?"

"I don't know." 

"How did I get on the ground?"

"I don't know that either."

"What's wrong-" Jack didn't finish the question, instead, the words trailed off into a gasping moan as the man's already too pale face went even whiter. Jack shuddered and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his midsection.

/---------------\

He felt their hands trying to push him onto his back but he knew that was the wrong thing to do. Jack managed to lift one hand away from his churning midsection, wordlessly swatting their hands away. He rolled back to his side and with the last of his strength, pushed himself partially up onto his knees, bracing himself with his hands.

There was no stopping it this time. He felt the burning surge begin in his gut, roar upward through his throat and into his mouth.

Jack gagged, retched, and the contents of his stomach poured out onto the ground.

He was aware enough to realize someone was holding his shoulders, helping him stay on his knees so that he didn't choke on the vile stuff spewing from his stomach. 

The retching went on and on. Even after he'd expelled all the contents of his stomach, dry heaves wracked his frame.

/---------------\

Teal'c, though he was immune from most illness because of his symbiote, was the first to realize what was happening. He helped O'Neill to his knees, keeping his strong hands on his friend's trembling shoulders as the human became violently ill.

/---------------\

When the heaving stopped, Jack stayed on his knees, swaying, his eyes closed and his mouth burning.

"O'Neill," Teal'c's hands were steadying him, pulling him backward, away from the disgusting mess and the smell of it that made him want to gag. He sat back on his butt, in the dirt, only Teal'c's strong grip propping up his shoulders kept him from falling flat in his back.

He felt wrung out, exhausted, so weak it took all his strength just to hold up his throbbing head.  
"Here, Sir." Carter was offering him a canteen, and he reached out to take it. His vision was so blurry, his hands shaking so badly that he failed to grasp it on the first try. The Major had to help hold the container while he let the cool liquid run into his mouth, rinsed and spit to rid himself of the bitter taste. Finally, he sipped slowly, letting the water trickle down his raw throat.

/---------------\

Carter had never seen the Colonel so sick, not even that time years ago when he'd had the hangover from Kinthia's marriage cake. She knew how good he was at hiding weakness, going all the way back to the time when they'd been stranded in Antarctica and he'd kept moving until his broken ribs and internal injuries had finally left him too weak to crawl out of his sleeping bag. 

Carter pulled the canteen from his belt and handed it to him, alarmed by his inability to grasp and hold it without her help.

/---------------\

Seeing Jack so sick had his own stomach churning, but Daniel bit back his own bile and helped the Colonel move off the trail and over into the shade. Seated now on the grass, with a low moan O'Neill slumped back to lie flat, his knees pulled up, one hand covering his face and his eyes closed.

"How are you feeling?" Daniel asked softly.

The Colonel didn't move his hand or open his eyes. "Oh, I'm just perfect. I always take a mid-morning barf break."

Well, at least Jack's sarcasm was still in working order, which was always a good sign.

/---------------\

Teal'c saw O'Neill tremble slightly. The Jaffa quickly slipped out of his jacket and placed it over the downed man's torso. Jack opened one eye and gave a tiny nod of appreciation, but said nothing.  
The Jaffa was uneasy.

/---------------\

As the Colonel rested, Carter studied him, worried. His face was pale, almost gray and occasionally, she saw him shiver. Teal'c must have seen it also as he removed his jacket and placed it over O'Neill's chest.

The frightening thing, she suddenly realized, was the absence of the Colonel's normally vibrant energy. It was such a part of the man that you didn't notice it until a moment like this, when it wasn't there. It left him looking every one of his 45-plus years, Sam thought. She rarely thought of him as that old, but he was, far past the age most officers abandoned the hardships of the field and took up work behind a desk. O'Neill, rather, seemed to thrive on the challenge of it. Normally, he just seemed so much younger than he was, mostly, she supposed because he acted worse than the average 12 year old-impatient, overactive and with an often pre-pubescent sense of humor that could be incredibly annoying. She'd gotten used to it over the past five years, but that didn't mean it still didn't upset her on occasion.

Yet, despite his faults, he was a terrific commander. He made leadership look so impossibly easy and she envied him that.

Carter wished the Colonel would display some of that energy right now, but, obviously, it wasn't going to happen.

They needed a plan.

/---------------\

Thankfully, the nausea and dizziness had pretty much abated now that he was lying down. He no longer felt like he was going to pass out or throw up, at least not right at the moment. Of course, he couldn't just lie here with his eyes closed all day, either.

Though it seemed like a wonderful plan at the moment. 

And the warmth of Teal'c's jacket felt really, really good.

/---------------\

"So," Sam kept her voice low, "are the rest of you feeling okay?"

"Fine," Daniel answered quickly.

"I am well," Teal'c agreed.

"Good, me, too. Now, I estimate we're about two and a half hours travel from the gate at our normal pace. Teal'c, if you went on ahead, how fast could you get there?"

"I believe I am capable of completing the journey in two hours, perhaps slightly less."

"Okay, then Daniel and I will stay with the Colonel and wait for you to bring back help."

"Carter, what are you doing?" O'Neill, still lying flat on the ground, opened one eye to glare at her, though he made no effort to sit up. 

"I'm creating a plan, Sir."

"Isn't that *my* job?" There was irritation plain in his voice, even if it did lack its usual strength.

"You aren't- you're not well, Sir," she answered nervously.

"I've heard that before," he admitted. "However, I am not so unwell that I can't do my job."

"You were resting, Sir, and we didn't want to disturb you."

"That's bull, Carter."

She took a deep breath. "Sir, I think sending Teal'c for help *is* our best plan of action."

"Except, first, it splits up the team, and we are on an alien planet, where we shouldn't split up unless we must. And second, it will take longer than us just proceeding to the gate all together," Jack answered with mock patience.

"I'm not sure you can proceed, Sir," she answered softly.

"Don't you think you ought to ask me that first? Because I can proceed. Once I've rested a little," he insisted.

"We're still more than two hours from the gate, Sir."

"Most likely longer since you're si--" Daniel started, then subsided when Jack raised his head and glared at the archaeologist, "since you're not feeling your best."

O'Neill looked miffed. "Teal'c said it would take him close to two hours to reach the gate, then, by the time they gather up a 'rescue' team, and they hike the two plus hours back here, how long will that be? Carter, you're good at math. How long?"

"I would calculate a minimum of four and a half hours, Sir, most likely a bit more, allowing time for a rescue party to get organized."

"So, even if it takes us say, an hour extra, to get to the gate, we'll still get home sooner. Aaand we'll be safely all together."

"But, Sir--"

"No buts, Major. Case closed." He opened one eye again to fix his glare on her. "Unless this is a mutiny?"

"No, Sir."

"Okay then."

/---------------\

O'Neill hoped it hadn't all been brave talk. He did feel a little better, what with the rest and the lying down and closing his eyes. How long his renewed energy would last, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that he didn't want a full blown medical alert over a little upset stomach. The SGC's diminutive but determined dictator of a doctor would lock him up in the infirmary whether he needed to be there or not. Which, he was sure, he didn't, for some ordinary little stomach virus-thingy.

"So, let's go." Jack sat up, and for a long second, everything spun sickeningly-ground, sky, clouds, trees, tumbling around like clothes in a washing machine. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing everything to hold still, and when he reopened them, the world seemed quite steady and serene.  
He handed the extra jacket back to the Jaffa and took Teal'c's offered hand, lurching upright, but  
Staying upright, a little uncertainly at first, but feeling better after a couple of deep breaths. Upright was okay; obviously, he was ready to do this. Jack jammed his baseball cap back on his head and resolutely started forward.

He felt better, he told himself. Yeah, a little tired maybe. His throat was a little dry and tight, his stomach still unsettled but firmly in place. If he kept his gaze focused on where he put his feet, he could walk just fine, especially if he ignored the way the horizon seemed to flutter on occasion, as if the planet was one great rolling ocean instead of solid ground.

He could handle it, though. The chills were gone, he was neither too cold nor too hot. Whatever had happened, he was so over it, it was no big deal.

After a half dozen strides, Jack sensed someone coming up to walk beside him, and cast a quick glance to see Teal'c's comforting bulk at his shoulder.

"I shall walk beside you, O'Neill."

Teal'c didn't speak many words, but somehow, he always said a lot with them, Jack thought gratefully. The big guy could probably condense War And Peace down to a half a page if he tried.  
And he was a hell of a friend to boot.

/---------------\

Carter, holding down their six, tried to watch in every direction. Yes, it had been a peaceful planet, but she suddenly felt the extra weight of responsibility weighing her down. No, she wasn't in charge, not exactly, the Colonel had made that clear. But she had taken note that he wasn't his usually observant self. 

Which meant she had to be doubly so.

A glance at the Colonel, hiking alongside Teal'c, revealed that he seemed to be acting more normal. He even seemed to have some color back in his face, though he was unusually quiet and moving more slowly than their standard brisk pace.

/---------------\

Jack ignored the first little ripple in his stomach, telling himself it was nothing. Just a little after effect, like a tiny aftershock following a massive earthquake. Definitely nothing to be worried about.

The second spasm was most definitely not little, and neither was it something he could ignore. The force of it seemed to drain all the strength from his body, leaving his knees shaking and his muscles trembling and his vision sort of, kind of, whacky. Still, he managed to catch himself and stay upright.

With a little help from the strong hand he suddenly felt gripping his upper arm.

/---------------\

Keenly observant, Teal'c was aware of the first slight tremor, betrayed by O'Neill's face unexpectedly going pale and his lips tightening in pain. The second spasm caused the man to pause in mid-stride and suddenly list hard to the left, the tempo of his breathing quickening sharply. The Jaffa's keen ears caught the start of a small moan of pain that was quickly cut off.

Wordlessly, T stepped to O'Neill's side and grasped the human's arm.

/---------------\

Jack realized he was leaning, heavily, against Teal'c. He found it reassuring, to know the helping hand was there. He didn't want to do another crash onto the hard packed dirt of the trail; he was pretty sure his knees were bruised already.

Not to mention his ego.

"Over there." Jack pointed with his chin, off the side of the trail, into the edge of the trees beside the stream which had by now grown into a small and swift river. "I need a break." And a drink of water and a gallon of Pepto Bismol and a bed and a week of sleep, and something for this abysmal headache-

/---------------\/---------------\

As the Colonel sat down with a sigh of relief, Carter was checking her watch. "Forty-two minutes between attacks."

He fixed an intimidating stare on her. "What? You're timing this, like I'm having contractions or something?"

"The interval of pain returning could be an important symptom, Sir," Carter explained.

"Symptom of what? Gas?"

"I don't know, Sir, but it may help Janet when we get back to the SGC."

"She needs help to prescribe Pepto Bismol?" He shook his head. "Let's go."

/---------------\

 

Part Two

They'd traveled more than 40 minutes, which meant they were a good quarter of the way back to the gate, even at their present slow pace.

He could handle this.

Yes, he could.

Definitely.

Even if he did feel a little shaky. 

And his muscles felt weak.

And he couldn't quite completely stand fully, normally upright.

And that was absolutely *not* a chill he was feeling. No. Not.

Mind over matter, O'Neill. If you don't mind, it don't matter.

/---------------\

O'Neill was obviously still not feeling well, Teal'c observed. The leader of SG-1 was still acting as a true warrior, hiding the severity of his ailment, but Teal'c knew him far too well to be fooled. 

/---------------\

Normally, Daniel knew that he was just a bit shorter than Jack. They'd even argued over it a few times. But now, Daniel having replaced Teal'c as Jack's escort, the archaeologist had noticed that he seemed taller than Jack.

Jack was walking sort of hunched over, like an arthritic old man who couldn't stand straight anymore.

And there was a definite shuffle to Jack's normally brisk walk.

He seemed, stiff, too.

Jack stumbled, and the arm slung over Daniel's shoulder was suddenly shifting a lot more of the Colonel's weight onto Jackson's frame.

"How are you doing?" Daniel asked, concerned.

"Wonderful," Jack snapped.

"Need a break?"

"Not unless you do."

"I'm fine."

"Well, so am I."

/---------------\

He wasn't fine. He just didn't want to break the rhythm, upset the motion, shatter the zone he was currently inhabiting. Jack knew from experience that stopping and re-starting took a lot more energy than just going on.

As long as you could keep going on.

He felt like crap. Day old crap, that had been run over by a bus. Or a tank. Or a battleship maybe.

He felt rotten.

Not that he felt like throwing up again; of course, his stomach was empty, there was nothing for him to expel. No, mostly he just felt weak. Sort of achy. Feverish, actually. Tired. Weary. Exhausted. Fatigued. Gray around the edges, and maybe even a little gray toward the center.  
Just a bit.

/---------------\

Teal'c had SG-1's six. As he walked, senses alert to the alien planet around him, he occasionally spared a glance for those who walked in front of him. Major Carter had taken point, competently leading the way. Daniel Jackson was walking beside O'Neill, one of O'Neill's arms companionably thrown over the younger man's shoulder.

/---------------\

Carter's eyes roamed across the landscape in front of her, side to side. As she walked, her brain was engaged in plotting the time and distance that remained until they reached the gate.

"Hey, Sam!"

Carter spun to look back at Daniel. He looked tired, and the Colonel, one arm draped across Daniel's shoulders for support, looked pale and shaky. "Daniel?"

"Slow down, would you?"

She hadn't realized how far ahead she'd gotten, she'd just been walking her normal speed.

Of course, today, normal was far too fast for her team leader.

"This isn't a race, Carter," the Colonel added, his tone quiet.

"We could take a break," she offered, though it had only been a few minutes since their last rest stop.

O'Neill answered with just one word. "No." 

/---------------\

Why did Jack have to be so damned stubborn? Daniel didn't need O'Neill to admit he was feeling worse. He could feel the tremors of weakness, feel more and more of Jack's weight sagging more and more heavily onto his shoulders.

/---------------\

His back hurt. His neck hurt. His knees hurt. His shoulders hurt. His hips hurt. His fingers, his toes, probably even his eyeballs hurt.

Eyes half closed, he stumbled doggedly on.

/---------------\

"Stop."

To her surprise, it wasn't the Colonel who asked for a rest, it was Daniel.

Sam, on point, paused and turned back toward her teammates. The archeologist stood in the middle of the path, O'Neill's left arm slung over his shoulder. "Daniel?"

"I need a break," he said.

Alarmed, she studied his face. "Are you sick?"

"No, just tired. Jack's heavier than he looks."

"Am not," the Colonel mumbled defensively as Daniel, with Teal'c's help, eased O'Neill down on a grassy spot beside the trail.

/---------------\

It was good to rest. Recumbent in the soft grass, he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Sir?" Carter's voice sounded alarmed.

"I'm not dying, Carter, just resting," he reassured.

"Would you like some water, Sir?"

"In a minute."

"Would you like to eat anything, Sir?"

"No." His stomach felt better, but not better enough to eat. Just the thought of food caused his gut to twist.

/---------------\

Despite their slow pace, they did reach the gate in just over three hours. The afternoon was ending, the sun sliding toward the horizon, spreading long shadows as the short day on Sallamdra ended.

Carter, walking fifty feet ahead of her teammates, was first to see it. Sam had never been so relieved to catch sight of the huge alien artifact when at last it appeared above the horizon. She turned to look behind her, to where her teammates followed. The Colonel's left arm was thrown over Daniel's shoulder, his right draped over Teal'c's. His footsteps were stumbling and his face pale, revealing his exhaustion. The other two looked worn out as well, yes, even Teal'c seemed weary.

"I see the gate," Sam called out encouragingly to them as she crested the last small hill.

/---------------\

"We're at the gate," Daniel repeated to his exhausted friend.

"Oh I just hope it's not locked," Jack mumbled. 

/---------------\

Daniel was incredibly glad that they were almost home. Not just for Jack's sake, but for his own. He wasn't sure how much further they could have traveled, worn out as they all were. And Jack, despite his protests to the contrary, was all but out on his feet.

/---------------\

The end of their long journey was in sight. Teal'c was greatly relieved that his Tau'ri brother would soon be in the capable healing hands of Doctor Fraiser. She was a tiny woman, but as determined as any Jaffa warrior. 

/---------------\

He felt like a wet dishrag. The only thing that kept him on his feet was the knowledge that there'd be a whole room full of people, SFs and techs and probably his CO, watching the return of SG-1. Watching him. And he'd be damned if the SGC grapevine was going to be telling stories about him being carried home.

Jack sighed wearily. Sometimes, living up to all that O'Neill bravado was a real pain in the mikta.

/---------------\

As the men of SG-1 topped the hill behind her, Carter was already dialing the gate. As soon as the wormhole formed, the guys now halfway down the hill, she punched SG-1's iris code into the GDO and waited impatiently for the green light to activate. Once it was on, she tabbed her radio.  
"Major Carter to SGC, we need a medical team standing by. Colonel O'Neill is ill. I repeat, we need a medical team in the gateroom."

"Acknowledged, Major," the steady voice of Sergeant Walter Harriman issued out of her radio. "We'll be ready."

/---------------\

SG-1 stumbled through the gate together, into the bright lights of the SGC.

Jack fought to stay on his feet. Even with Teal'c and Daniel's help, it wasn't easy; it would have been impossible without them. His legs felt like Jello, very, very achy and very, very wobbly Jello, but Jello none the less. His head swam and his eyes wouldn't quite focus, but he pasted a smile on his face and tried to look chipper.

Or at least, alive.

/---------------\

Not again, thought Doctor Janet Fraiser as she watched SG-1's unorthodox arrival, Colonel O'Neill all but being carried by Teal'c and Daniel. 

Incongruously, he smiled, though it was a pretty feeble smile.

/---------------\

Not again, thought General Hammond as he watched his elite team arrive through the wormhole in quite obviously less than perfect condition. Teal'c and Doctor Jackson helped Jack onto the waiting gurney.

/---------------\

It felt oh so very good to lie down and close his eyes.

He sighed.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack opened his eyes. He would never admit it, but he was in fact very glad to see her face, even if it was sort of blurry and wobbling all over like a top spinning in slow motion. "Doc?"

"Looks like you're a bit under the weather, Colonel."

Under the weather? He felt like he was probably under the weather, the ocean, the land, the whole damn planet. "D'oh."

Her hand on his forehead felt cool and comforting.

/---------------\

O'Neill's face was pasty, pale and sweat streaked; tight pain lines were noticeable around his unfocused eyes. "Looks like you're a bit under the weather, Colonel."

"D'oh," O'Neill answered.

"How many fingers, Sir?" she asked, holding up two.

"Two," he answered.

She tried again, holding up three. "Sir, how many?"

"Two."

Even before her hand touched his forehead she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He was definitely running a fever, and from the way he'd staggered over to the gurney, even with his teammates' help, he was dizzy, too.

She turned to the rest of SG-1. "What happened?"

Sam answered first. "We don't know. He just got sick, after we started back from the village toward the gate-- weak, dizzy, nauseous."

Janet nodded and sighed. So this case was going to be a medical mystery for her to solve.

/---------------\

Whatever Doc was doing, it was helping. He didn't feel quite as hot as he had. Maybe it was just that they'd cut away his clothes, which generally occurred when he was carried into the infirmary, and which he normally quite passionately hated. Today, in this case, it felt good. Maybe it was the blanket someone laid over him, oddly cool like it had been kept in the refrigerator. Maybe it was the cool, wet cloth someone placed on his forehead, or the sponge bath the nurse was giving him. He usually hated those, too, but not today. 

Today, it all felt good.

And, okay, yeah, comforting even.

Though he'd face a firing squad before ever admitting that to anyone.

/---------------\

Janet checked the Colonel's chart as her nurses worked on O'Neill.

He'd been unusually quiet as his clothes were cut away and replaced with a hospital gown, failing to utter so much as a single word of complaint. They'd discovered the rash then, blotchy patches on his chest, abdomen, and back. They'd also noted the swollen joints of all his extremities.

His high temperature worried her. She had a cooling blanket brought in, and one of the nurses was giving him a sponge bath with tepid water.

An IV was in place and already providing him with fluids. He'd been dehydrated, but that was to be expected after the bouts of vomiting his teammates had reported.

She hoped that the treatments would quickly lower his temperature, which was hovering between 101 and 102, while several times spiking to a dangerous 105.

/---------------\

Twelve hours later, as she joined General Hammond and the rest of SG-1 in the briefing room, Janet could with confidence report what *wasn't* wrong with the Colonel. She just didn't quite know, for sure, what *was* wrong with him. Not yet. Though she had her suspicions.

"So far, General, our tests have ruled out acute gastroenteritis, that's food poisoning, Sir, and any known flu virus. My best guess, after finding what appears to be an insect bite mark on his arm, is that he has contracted a bug-borne virus of some sort. We're looking for something akin to malaria or dengue fever." She turned to the worried looking members of SG-1. "Did any of you notice insects of any kind?"

"There were some bugs similar to mosquitoes," Carter recalled.

"Was anyone else bitten?"

They all shook their heads no. 

"Good." Janet nodded. "That could be the source, then."

"Is this contagious?" General Hammond demanded.

"As far as we can tell, probably not, Sir, since the other members of SG-1 were in close contact with the Colonel and none of them are showing any symptoms. But just to be cautious, I would like Sam and Daniel to stay on the base for another 24 hours."

Hammond nodded. "So what's the prognosis, Doctor?" he asked.

"Sir, we are treating Colonel O'Neill's symptoms while we continue additional testing. If we can link this virus to something similar on Earth, we may have something more. Soon, I hope."

/---------------\

She'd tried a wide range of tests before hitting on the one which gave her an answer.

When the ELISHA test came back, Janet Fraiser sighed with relief and headed for O'Neill's bedside.

"Colonel?"

"Hmmm," feverish eyes opened to look blearily up at her from his pale face. 

"I've got your test results back, Colonel, and there's good news."

"I'm pregnant?"

Janet smiled, not just at the joke, but buoyed by the fact that O'Neill had attempted one, lame as it was. "No, sir, you have what appears to be the alien equivalent of a single strand RNA virus of the family Togaviradae, commonly called chikungunya fever."

"Chicken fever?"

"Chikungunya, Sir. It's found on several Indian Ocean islands here on Earth. Nausea, chills, fever, rash, swollen and painful joints-"

His eyes slid closed again. "Hit the jackpot then. Got 'em all."

"Yes you do, Sir, but, generally, people recover in a few days."

The brown eyes reopened slowly. "Days?" he asked, plaintively.

"Yes, Colonel. But you'll be okay." She patted his arm. "Relax, and we'll take care of you."

"'Kay, Doc." He mumbled. "But I'm never eating chicken again."

Janet smiled, and left.

/---------------\

Jack looked better, Daniel thought as he slipped into the infirmary to check on his teammate and friend. He was sleeping soundly, unlike the restless tossing and turning he'd been doing since they'd gotten him home, so Daniel eased back out of the room, relieved that the man was improving. 

"How's Jack doing? He looks better," the archaeologist asked Doctor Fraiser.

She patted his arm. "He's making very good progress. The fever is going down, he's rehydrated, and his vitals are moving back toward normal."

Daniel sighed with relief. "That's good. He'll be okay then?"

Janet smiled. "With rest, yes."

/---------------\

The physical fragility of the Tau'ri was always a surprise, the Jaffa thought as he sat patiently at the bedside of his fellow warrior. Over the years, Teal'c had come to see that O'Neill's strong spirit normally compensated for the inherent failings of his human body. 

Today, O'Neill did appear to be much improved, his skin color returned to near its normal hue. His rest seemed unimpaired, unlike previous days.

/---------------\/---------------\

He'd been sleeping, and sleeping even more after that but finally, he was starting to feel better, in some ways at least. Jack no longer felt like he was locked in a sauna, or an oven. He had enough experience with fevers to know that this one was subsiding.

But he did ache all over, every joint throbbing like an old toothache. Actually, he felt very much like he'd felt those last couple of days on Kinthia's planet, when he'd been an arthritic old codger.

Crap!

This chicken fever hadn't brought about the return of those age-inducing nano-bug thingies, had it?

The Colonel roused himself enough to reach for his call button.

/---------------\

Janet was surprised when the call button for Colonel O'Neill's bed sounded. He almost never used it-she'd never been able to convince him that it was there for a reason, and that using it didn't constitute a show of weakness at odds with his bravado. 

Did he have a visitor who was calling for help on his behalf? 

She hurried out of her office and across the otherwise empty infirmary. Even before she reached his curtained-off 'room' at the far end of the ward, she heard him telling the nurse, "I need to see Doc." His voice was soft but stronger than she'd expected. She didn't think he was ready to start in on his usual let-me-out-of-here demands, so why had he called?

Sweeping the curtain aside, "I'm here, Colonel," she announced, making eye contact with the nurse and with a small wave to giving her permission to leave. "What's the problem, Sir?" Janet had already picked up his chart and was scanning the notes. "Everything seems to be fine."

"Not fine." He complained, enigmatically.

"Colonel, it will take time for you to regain your strength. That's normal. But you are progressing as well as can be expected." He fixed her with a glare that, she noted with surprise, seemed to have a hint of worry in it. "Your fever is definitely down, and the rash seems to be clearing up nicely," she added, hoping that would reassure him.

"I feel like I'm ninety." 

Ah, ha, the problem revealed at last. "In what way, Sir?"

"Those nano-thingies aren't back? I'm not aging a decade a day am I?"

"No, Colonel. There are no nanites in your bloodstream. Why would you think that?" She saw him shift slightly on the bed, and grimace.

"I feel like I've broken every bone in my body."

Okay, that was an exaggeration she knew, but it was a clue to what was really going on. "One of the symptoms of this virus is swollen and painful joints." Obviously, she'd underestimated the degree of the problem. "I'll increase the pain meds, Sir, so you'll be more comfortable."

He closed his eyes and nodded very slightly.

After all this time, she was quite confident in reading his reactions. That he didn't object meant he really was in serious pain. 

"How long?" he asked, quietly.

"The pain meds will kick in right away, Colonel."

"No. I mean, how long until I'm rid of this damn virus?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. We'll do everything we can to keep you comfortable."

/---------------\

Except he wasn't comfortable. The choice was pain meds that made him feel dopey and cranky, or suffering in silence, which made him feel achy and cranky. Either way, he was miserable.

/---------------\

The SGC's head nurse Lee Carrol paused outside the curtain, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for the task at hand. Stepping forward, she brushed the cloth partition aside with a cheery, "Good afternoon, Sir-"

Colonel O'Neill opened one eye and fixed her with an unhappy glare.

"Glad to see you, too, Colonel."

She saw his expression soften a little. Usually, they got along well-she ignored his protests and did her job, calmly and efficiently, telling him what she was going to do, explaining what and why and letting him feel less of a patient and more of a participant in his own care.

"I've already had a bath today," he snapped.

She set the warm towels down on the bedside table. "This isn't a bath. Give this a try." She carefully picked up his left arm and wrapped one of the hot towels around his still slightly swollen elbow.

After a moment, Lee could have sworn she heard him sigh. His eyes closed and his face softened into an entirely new expression. "How does that feel, Sir?"

"Nice."

Wow. That was pretty much the mother of all compliments from O'Neill. "We'll do a few more, if that's okay?" she asked, and getting a slight nod, set about wrapping his knees, elbows, and ankles in the warm compresses.

They helped, even if he wouldn't admit it to her. She could see the relief they brought, the tight little lines around his eyes easing as he drifted off to sleep.

/---------------\

Dropping into the infirmary, Major Carter was surprised to find the Colonel sleeping. She left his bedside and went in search of the diminutive CMO of the SGC. "Hi Janet. How's the Colonel?"

"He's improving."

"What's up with all the mummy wrappings?"

"Hot compresses, for joint pain."

"He's still--?"

"Yes. According to the literature, it's a symptom that could linger for weeks," Janet informed her.

/---------------\

Doctor Janet Fraiser was smiling. Her patient was not. He was scowling actually, and at her. "Colonel, I know-"

"You don't."

"Okay, I don't know how you feel, but I do know that you are continuing to improve."

"At a snail's pace. A very slow, nearly immobile and quite likely dead, snail."

"It's what's to be expected with Chikungunya fever."

"I thought you said the chicken fever was gone," he snapped.

"Yes, Colonel, the fever is gone, but other effects of the virus do linger."

"How long do they linger?" he asked sharply.

She took a deep breath and delivered the bad news. "It varies, and of course, this is an alien version of the disease so we don't know for sure-"

"How long, Doc?" he insisted.

"Weeks-"

"Weeks?" he asked in despair.

"-is common, but sometimes longer."

"Longer?"

She hoped the rest of her news would improve his mood. "But, now that we're confident that this virus isn't contagious, and your fever's stayed down for 24 hours, I'll let you go home."

Oh-oh she thought, because that announcement didn't provoke a smile.

/---------------\/---------------\

O'Neill was home, but he felt like crap. Every movement required an effort, even little things like chewing his food. He had tried to lie down and rest, but either his back hurt, or his neck hurt, or his legs hurt or his butt hurt. There was no comfortable position, whatever he did his joints felt like they were full of ground glass. So now he was up and hobbling around, searching for that old heating pad he was pretty sure he'd stuck somewhere in the back of the bathroom cupboard.

Failing to find that, he decided on a hot bath, instead. 

He turned on the water and let steaming liquid fill the tub. Once it was full, he stepped out of his clothes and into the water. It was hot, but bearably so, and it felt good. He sank down into the liquid, stretching and relaxing until only his head was above the water.

It felt good, the warmth seeping through his skin and into his aching joints.

If only he could stay there forever.

He'd be wrinkled as a prune, but he'd be one very happy prune. 

/---------------\

So went his days, and his nights, his body and his brain at odds- his mind, demanding that he be his usual active and busy self; his body, protesting every movement. Sure, he'd been laid up before, but at least with broken bones he knew that after six weeks they would be healed and he could go back to his normal life. Six weeks was finite, measurable. There was an end in sight.

This wore him down, steadily, bit by bit.

And when the thought slipped into his brain, he ruthlessly reburied it. This was not forever. This was temporary. This *would* go away.

He tried to work, to keep himself busy. Hammond provided him with stacks of paperwork to occupy his time, until his brain ached as badly as his body.

It only left him more frustrated.

/---------------\

And then one morning, he woke, climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

He'd gone half a dozen steps when he realized what was missing.

No throbbing, grinding ache in his bones.

He stopped and looked down at his hands, wiggling the fingers.

No stiffness. No throbbing. No pain.

He formed his hands into fists, opening and closing them.

No stiffness. No throbbing. No pain.

He rotated his wrists and then he bent his elbows, up and down, forward and back. He raised his arms up over his head, rolling his shoulders.

No stiffness. No throbbing. No pain.

He picked up each foot, rotating his ankles, bending his knees. Sure, there was some stiffness there, but that was old hat. His knees had been bad for years now. But the rest of him? No stiffness. No throbbing. No pain.

He put his hands on his hips and twisted at the waist; he leaned back, bending his spine.

Holy moley.

Jack O'Neill laughed out loud.

He reached out and picked up the phone, dialing a familiar number. "Hey, Doc, you wanna go dancing?"

He could hear the smile in her voice as she answered, "Dancing, Colonel?"

Much as he delighted in annoying her, the truth was, he really did appreciate Doc. He knew how hard she and her staff worked and what a good job she did of taking care of the teams. Those facts, however, were among the hundreds of things he was just never going to admit to in this lifetime.

"Yup. You do know the chicken dance, don't you Doc?" 

 

//-------The END --------\\\

 

27


End file.
